Page 23 of Spark of the Everflame

I scowled at the traitorous thought. I looked down to where he gripped me, his skin strikingly hot against my own.

“If you value that hand, you’d best remove it from my arm,” I warned.

His gaze dragged over me. I could practically hear his thoughts as he assessed me—my height, my build, my daggers—dismissing the idea that I offered any real threat. The arrogance of it almost made me smile. I had been underestimated by proud men before—always to their downfall.

“Hand,” I snapped. “Off.” I angled my body to conceal my palm as it inched to the hilt of my blade.

He held my stare for a few tense seconds, eyes sparking with some inscrutable reaction, before finally letting me go.

“How did you do that—with Lily?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft.

“I’m a healer. It’s my job.”

He stepped forward, and I stepped back.

“Your eyes—”

“I’m not Descended,” I interrupted, knowing all too well where this was headed. The rehearsed explanation fell off my tongue like a reflex. “I was born with brown eyes. Lost the color in a childhood illness. There’s plenty in town who can vouch for it.”

“The light you made back there...”

“That was Lily. I did nothing. I’m a mortal.”

He looked unconvinced, scanning my face in search of some answer I couldn’t provide.

Here he was, finally standing before me, the man I’d been searching for months to find. My lips parted with the urge to ask him about my mother, but some gut instinct held my tongue.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I brought this man into my life, it would open a door I could never again close. And judging from the knife-blade edge to his voice and the suffocating intensity of his presence, this was not a man I wanted wrapped up in my world. If he’d been willing to kill my mother to keep her silent, what might he do to the rest of my family if he believed we knew his secrets, too?

He glanced over his shoulder at the empty corridor, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “If you’re a half-mortal...”

“I’m not.”

A crease formed between his brows. “Your father—he hails from Fortos?”

My thoughts crashed in a jumbled frenzy.How could he have...? Does he mean the Commander, or does he mean...? Is it possible he knows...?

My expression seemed enough of an answer for him. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Wonderful,” he mumbled.

“What—how did you—”

“You shouldn’t be here.” He jerked his chin toward my daggers. “Mortalsaren’t permitted to carry weapons in the palace.” He said the word pointedly, drawing it out like some unpleasant inside joke.

My temper flared anew. The Descended could kill us with a twist of their fingers—butwewere the threat?

“What’s the problem?” I bit back. “Scared of a little mortal woman?”

“Hardly.” His tone was emotionless, matter-of-fact. “Mortal or not, you’d be dead before that dagger left its sheath.”

For a foolish heartbeat, I considered putting his claim to the test.

“Why does it matter then? I thought mortal weapons couldn’t pierce your skin.”

“They can’t—except for the children.” Immediately his features tightened, as if chastising himself for revealing such a weakness.

“You think I would hurt achild?” I hissed.

He opened his mouth to respond but fell silent as I stormed forward, not stopping until my face was so close, the warmth of his breath fell on my lips. I poked my blood-coated finger into the solid wall of his chest, getting a small thrill of satisfaction as his eyes grew large in surprise.

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